


Always Me That Ends Up Getting Wet

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 08:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5085679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy staggers into a random coffee shop after a hard day of work. He gets a lot more than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Me That Ends Up Getting Wet

The first time Bellamy goes into Griffin Grounds, it's 9:55 on a Thursday and he wants to die.

"Look, I'm really sorry, I know all your stuff is probably cleaned and you want to close, and I am being the asshole who isn't even _ordering_ , I'm asking for a recommendation, but if you can make me something that will stop me having a headache and not keep me up all night, I will give you a fifty dollar tip and maybe cry in gratitude."

The girl behind the counter is pretty, long blonde hair pulled back in a loose braid and bright blue eyes behind a pair of silver glasses. She opens and closes her mouth and then says, "Any allergies?"

"No."

"Okay. Will you go lock the door? I promise I'll let you out after. I'm not going to murder you for coming in five minutes before close, I just want you to be the last one."

"Sure. Thank you, seriously."

"No problem," she says. "There is a comfy chair you should sit in. Long day?"

"The longest. I don't usually unload on strangers, just--" Door locked, he flops down into the comfy chair and groans in satisfaction. "Have you ever seen _The Devil Wears Prada_?"

"Yeah."

"I have an job like that. I'm getting paid, paid _really fucking well_ , but it's still just--fuck. My boss is a nightmare, the hours are a nightmare, and I have to go back tomorrow and work all weekend."

"That sucks. Are your friends also assholes who don't understand that you need to make money and keep your job?"

"No, thank god. Not that I have a huge social circle, but the friends I have are great." He leans back into the chair, closing his eyes. "I'm doing it to put my sister through college. And--it pays so well that one year should actually do it. I just have to make it one year. But, fuck--one year has never felt so long."

"Don't fall asleep on me," says the barista, sounding amused. "This is going to be ready in another ten seconds."

"Thank you so much. Seriously."

She comes over with a drink and sits down on the table across from him. She's wearing a black polo and jean skirt, and she has nice legs, which is the kind of thing he's amazed he can notice in his current state. He didn't think he was conscious enough to think girls were hot.

"No problem," she says. "You did sound pretty close to tears." She smiles when she sees him blow on the cup. "It should be cool enough to drink."

It smells like chocolate and hazelnuts, and Bellamy feels himself relaxing before he's even taken a sip. The warmth flows through his whole body at the first taste of it, and he lets out a sigh.

"Fuck. This is perfect."

"I try."

"I'm going to pay you as soon as I can sit up enough to get to my wallet."

"It's fine. On the house."

His eyes snap open at that. "No. No way. It's closing time, you had to turn all your stuff back on, I basically broke down on you. And this is the best hot chocolate I've ever had, so--"

"So come back," she says, and when he opens his eyes, she's smiling. "You can pay me next time. But if you really feel bad, you can just tell me your name and we'll call it even."

"That's really not even," he protests, but she just looks at him, expectant, and he says, "Bellamy."

"Clarke. Nice to meet you, Bellamy."

"You too," he says. "I can go--"

"I still have some cleaning up to finish. I'll kick you out when I'm leaving."

He finishes his drink and falls asleep, and he feels surprisingly rested and restored when she shakes him awake, even though he couldn't have been asleep for more than twenty minutes.

"You're actually magic," he tells her.

She really does have the prettiest smile he's ever seen. "Yeah. I get that a lot."

*

He's planning to go in the next morning and buy something and leave a big tip, but Mr. Wallace calls at seven a.m. and needs him _immediately_ , so that plan is out. He doesn't get a break long enough to leave the office until six, but he still drags himself to Griffin Grounds because--honestly, the conversation with Clarke and the hazelnut hot chocolate were the best things that have happened to him in at least a month. Probably a lot longer.

She's behind the counter again when he comes in, and her bright smile when she sees him in line is enough to penetrate the fog of misery he's been in all day.

"You're back!" she says.

"Sorry, I wanted to come earlier, but--boss. I was going to stop by first thing in the morning and it didn't work out at all."

"How do you define first thing in the morning?"

"In theory, nine, but my boss had an emergency at seven a.m., so--fuck my life, basically."

"Fuck." She clucks her tongue and signals to another girl to take the register. "Come over here, talk to me while I make your drink."

"I haven't ordered or paid," he points out.

"Come on."

He puts a fifty into the tip jar, as promised, and follows her over to the complicated coffee machinery. "You really don't have to give me free shit."

"If I'm not asking you what you want, I probably shouldn't charge you for it, right?"

"You could just ask me what I want. And then I pay you for it. That's how this usually works, right? I'm not a professional like you are, but I have ordered a lot of coffee in my life."

Clarke grins at him. "What, don't you trust me?" 

"I met you last night. But that was a pretty great drink, so, in this one very specific area, yeah, sure, I trust you. Which means I can still pay you."

"Uh huh," Clarke agrees, but makes no mention of charging him. Instead, she says, "So, I work one to close, for the record. If you come in first thing in the morning, Monty will just take your order and accept money for your coffee, which it sounds like you're into. I don't get the appeal, but, you know. If that's what you like, go for it."

"Do you work Saturdays?" he asks.

"Yes. But not Sundays or Mondays. Weird days off, I know."

"Thank god."

She raises her eyebrows and hands him a cup. A ceramic travel mug, even, with the Griffin Grounds logo on it, a really cute cartoon of an actual griffin holding a coffee cup.

"How have you not gotten fired? I've been here twice, you haven't let me pay for anything, and you're giving me a mug."

"It's my coffee shop," she says. "No one's going to fire me. Drink your tea."

He blinks at the mug, not sure if he's more surprised that she owns the place or that she gave him tea. "Tea?" he asks, because, yeah, she's young, fine, but _tea_?

"It's good," she says. "Do you have to go back to work?"

He glances at his phone. "I've got twenty minutes or until my boss calls. Whichever comes first."

"Okay, cool. Maya, I'm taking fifteen," Clarke tells the girl at the register. "I'll be over there, so just wave if you need me."

She takes Bellamy's arm and leads him to a small, quiet booth in the back. It's more crowded than it was last night, a bunch of people hanging out with laptops to work, or chatting with friends. It's nice. If he ever had free time, he'd definitely want to spend some of it here.

Well, he guesses he already is. But _real_ free time.

"So, why are you glad I work Saturdays?" she asks, resting her cheek on her hand and watching him across the table. It's probably flirting, and he would really love to flirt back, but he is barely alive at this point, so he just takes an unthinking sip of the tea. He's only ever had herbal tea when he was sick, which he hated, but this is strong and black, with honey and what tastes like a little hot milk, and it's completely perfect.

"Fuck, that's amazing."

"I know. What I don't know is why you're glad I work Saturdays."

"So, my terrible boss?"

"Yeah."

"He's this, I dunno. One of those professional rich people? His dad is fucking rich and he's always doing stuff for fucking _shitty_ charities, like, if you look them up on Charity Navigator they're a fucking. Worse than Susan G. Komen. I'm going to have to do so much karmic shit to make up for this year."

"Bellamy," Clarke says, amused.

"Right, uh." He gives her a sheepish smile. "I don't want my sister to know how much I hate this, so I don't really talk about it much. I didn't mean to unload on you either."

"I don't mind. You're just really bad at staying on topic."

"Mr. Wallace--he's, like, ten years older than I am, how douchey is it that he makes me call him Mr. Wallace?" She just smiles, and he takes another sip of the tea. "Anyway. He's got this huge event two weeks from Saturday, and as his assistant, I have a shit load of stuff to do to prepare for it and then I have to be around for a few hours, until I start embarrassing him and he sends me home. Which, if I'm lucky, will be before ten."

"And you want to come get coffee? I'm flattered."

"Assume I have very little joy in my life, and I don't want to start doing drugs. So this is a lot better."

Clarke laughs. "Well, I'm glad to help out, then." She worries her lip, checking her phone. "Okay, we have a little while longer. Tell me about your sister."

*

Bellamy doesn't go into Griffin Grounds _every_ day in the next couple weeks, but he goes probably a lot more than he should. He works ten to thirteen hours most days, and he doesn't have much time to do normal twenty-something things, like flirting with pretty girls or even interacting with other humans his age. He and Miller spend Sunday mornings playing video games because Wallace actually goes to _church_ on Sundays, for publicity reasons, so it's not like he's totally without human contact. But random hookups lost their charm a long time ago, so he hasn't had much by way of romantic company.

Not that anything like that is actually happening with Clarke. He goes in after work when she's still open, she makes him a free drink, which she never lets him order and is always perfect, and they'll chat a little. He's managed to stop talking about himself long enough to find out about her--she's twenty-four, her grandfather died a few years ago and left her a lot of money, which is how she can afford her own business, she's bisexual and broke up with her last girlfriend six months ago, and her best friends are a guy named Wells and a girl named Raven. 

He has no idea why she's taken a shine to him, or why she keeps giving him free things, except that he's pretty hot, but there are plenty of hot guys in the world who aren't actual disasters with minimal free time and jobs that are driving them into worrying caffeine addictions to avoid more expensive and dangerous drugs.

"So, Cage Wallace, right?" Clarke asks. It's the Thursday before his event, and he's not convinced he'd be alive without her giving him regular hot beverages and smiles.

He blames the sappiness of that particular thought on exhaustion and misery.

"What?" he asks, when she presses his Griffin Grounds mug into his hands with an expectant smile.

"Your boss is Cage Wallace, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Were you google-stalking him? Let me remind you how much I need the money."

"You've made that very clear," Clarke says. "I promise I'm not judging you. Drink that."

"Caffeine level?"

"Moderate. It's only eight, you might get called back into work."

He offers her a huge, very goofy smile. "I honestly don't know how I survived before I wandered in here."

She glances around and then leans across the counter to peck him on the cheek. "Always glad to help. So, are you ready for the big party?"

Bellamy takes a long drink of coffee, hoping the hot drink will cover up the real reason he's blushing. "As ready as I'll ever be. Mr. Wallace set me up with an appointment to get dressed and primped, which sounds awful, so--be prepared to be overwhelmed with my rich-dude beauty if I make it in on Saturday."

Clarke laughs. "Can't wait. Do you have my number? You should just text me when you're done so I can stay open for you."

"No, I really shouldn't," he protests. "You don't have to stay open for me. That sounds terrible."

"Okay, I won't stay open for you," she says. "I was just trying to get you to give me your number."

"Sneaky," he says. "You're way too smooth for me. The amount of effort you're putting into this is actually making it harder for you to pick me up. I'm awful with flirting."

"Trust me, I noticed," she says, and hands him her phone. He puts his number in, and he's about to try something really drastic, like trying to figure out a time he could take her out for an actual date where he bought her dinner and wasn't on the verge of passing out, but then Wallace calls before he can.

"Fuck," he says. "I have--" He bites his lip. "I really want to keep talking to you about this."

Clarke considers for second, then wraps her fingers around his tie, pulls him in, and presses her lips against his, soft and quick. "Good luck with your party, Bellamy."

He would like to say that the general exhaustion and suckiness of his life is why he walks into her door as he leaves, but that's definitely not why. 

But she did kiss him, so--it probably works out.

*

The party is exactly as terrible as Bellamy imagined it would be. He's wearing a suit that is both hot and uncomfortable, his tie is too tight, and his hair is slicked back. He feels like a waiter, and people keep mistaking him for one, which--he doesn't really want to feel included with these people. Really, he doesn't. They're all dicks. But he doesn't like being made to feel so out-of-place and lower class by his boss, even if he _is_ both those things.

"Yeah, you need this," says a voice at his elbow, and Bellamy startles when he sees Clarke. She's wearing a silver gown and her hair is down around her shoulders. She is, without question, the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and she has a paper cup in her hand. "I thought you wouldn't make it to nine."

"What are you doing here? Are you actually magic?"

"I'm actually magic." She presses the cup into his hands. "My mom was invited. She was thrilled when I said I actually wanted to go to one of her shitty charity benefits. You made her entire year."

Bellamy takes a sip of the drink--hot tea, something with berries and honey and spice--to steady his nerves. It works. "Your mom is here?"

"I got a lot of money from my grandfather because my family is stupid rich," she says.

"And you run a coffee shop." 

"Can you see me regularly going to these things?"

He lets his eyes sweep over her again. "Yeah, I really can. Every one of them sounds so much better with you around. And you look beautiful. You should come to every one of these I'm at."

To his delight, she actually turns pink. "I clean up okay. I could probably come to a couple more." She recovers quickly and eyes him. "I'm not a big fan of your look. Whoever Cage had doing your hair sucked."

"I think he wanted people to assume I was a waiter." He looks down at her, still not quite believing she's real. "Thank you so much for showing up."

"You seemed like you needed backup," she says, her hand finding his and squeezing. "Also, you're busy. I figured if I wanted to see you outside the coffee shop, I might have to work for it."

He smiles. "I promise I was working on it too. Just--"

" _Devil Wears Prada_ ," she says. "I have met Cage. I get it. But I like you, so, yeah."

Bellamy's going to say something else, but of course, Wallace _would_ be one of those people who shows up as soon as his name is mentioned to ruin Bellamy's nice moment with the girl he likes. Wallace is superhumanly good at ruining Bellamy's life, while also saving it with actual ridiculous amounts of money. It's annoying, that he actually _needs_ the stupid asshole.

He puts the cup of tea on the table behind him so Wallace won't see it, and Clarke gives his fingers a final squeeze before letting him go. 

"Blake," says Wallace, but he's looking at Clarke. "Ms. Griffin. Your mother mentioned you were coming, but I didn't believe it. It's a pleasure to see you, it's been far too long." He actually kisses her hand, which Bellamy didn't think anyone did anymore, and then he turns his attention to Bellamy. "I'm glad you're making friends," he says, in a tone which suggests it is the last thing he cares about, "but I need your help. I'm sure Ms. Griffin has other things to do as well."

"Oh, no," Clarke says, bright. "Bellamy's my boyfriend, when he mentioned he'd be here I thought I'd come too. I knew he'd been working, but he's been so busy, I wanted to see how it turned out."

Wallace looks somewhat stunned, and it is in no way something he can blame Bellamy for, so it's awesome. Also, she said he was his girlfriend, and that's even better.

"I'll come find you when I'm done with work," Bellamy says, and kisses her himself, before he can lose his nerve.

It's clear Wallace didn't actually have anything for him to do and was just afraid he was bothering the guests. He sort of makes up some tasks and then asks, overly casual, "How did you meet Clarke Griffin?"

"I go to her coffee shop," he says, just as casual. "Anything else you need me to take care of?"

Wallace's jaw works, but Bellamy is being polite and respectful and probably more cheerful than he has been the entire time he's worked for the guy. It's clear that he wants to do _something_ about Bellamy's relationship, but even Wallace realizes it is totally inappropriate and beyond the pale to comment on his love life. Besides, Clarke's mom is apparently a big deal, so Wallace is put in the uncomfortable position of having to say, "No, you're done for the night. But--if you and Clarke would like to stay and enjoy the rest of the party, you're more than welcome. Otherwise, I'll see you on Monday."

Clarke still has his tea when he finds his way back to her, and it's somehow still warm.

"You're actually magic," he says, smiling at her. "My boss is very unnerved that you're slumming it with me."

"I've known your boss since I was ten and he's been a dick that entire time," she says. "Are you done? Do you want to get out of here?"

"I think he's hoping I'll get you to stick around and maybe convince your mom to give him a bunch of money. How rich is your family, exactly?"

"Incredibly. Sorry, I should have mentioned, but--I figured I'd get you to like me first. And then break it to you."

"I do hate rich, beautiful girls who give me free drinks and don't seem to care that I suck at flirting and am always on the verge of passing out. You're the opposite of my type."

Clarke grins. "I get that a lot. So, do you want to bail and go to my place or stick around and meet my mother?"

"Is this some kind of test? Because one of those sounds great and the other sounds horrific."

"No test. Let's get out of here."

It's October and getting a little chilly, so Bellamy drapes his jacket over Clarke's shoulders as they walk home. She raises her eyebrows at him, and he holds up his cup of tea. "This is warm. I'm covered."

"What a gentleman." She pulls the coat around herself with a frown. "Cage gave you this jacket?"

"Loaned it."

"It's really itchy. He's a dick."

"I'm so glad you already know and hate my boss." He wets his lips. "So, you really want to be my girlfriend? Keeping in mind that I still have five more months of working for Wallace before I can tell him he's an irredeemable human being and go to grad school instead."

"I do," she says. "I'm getting in there before you're free again and figure out you've got better options."

"Like I said, no one wants to go out with a beautiful, rich woman who gives them free coffee and gets them in good with their asshole boss. I'll definitely dump you as soon as I have any other choices."

"Sounds right," Clarke says. "But then you stop getting the free coffee, so think carefully."

"Okay," he grants. "Maybe we can keep dating. Just until I get an espresso machine."

*

The next week is basically awesome. Wallace, in an attempt to curry favor with the traditionally hostile Griffin family, keeps Bellamy to a sixty-hour working week, which is basically unheard of, and incredibly awesome.

"The fact that this is a huge improvement just speaks to how fucking terrible a boss he is," Clarke remarks, leaning across the counter to smile at him. 

That's the other awesome thing about his week, that Clarke is a part of it outside of the coffee shop. Not that, even with his reduced workload, he has a ton of time to hang out with her, but he's fallen asleep on her couching watching Netflix a few nights and it's been awesome. And he feels less weird getting free drinks from his rich girlfriend than from an attractive, financially struggling small-business owner who seems to like him for no discernible reason.

Plus, he's a big fan of making out.

"We all knew he was a terrible boss. That was never in question." He flicks the brim of her witch hat. "Did I tell you your costume is cute yet?"

"It's Halloween. And I'm way better at cute costumes than sexy costumes, so--cute witch."

"You're also very sexy, if it helps."

Clarke laughs. "Thanks. Your inability to keep from groping me when we're on my couch hadn't tipped me off yet." She slides him a drink before he even realizes he wants one, a latte with a hint of cinnamon, and when he raises his eyebrows at her, she just grins. "What? You wanted a drink, right?"

"I wanted this exact drink, yes. I don't even know what this _is_ and it's exactly what I wanted."

Clarke tips her hat to him. "I keep telling you, I am actually magic."

"As magical powers go, knowing exactly what hot beverage I want to drink is pretty shitty. I would be disappointed."

Clarke thinks this statement over for long enough that Bellamy gets nervous, even though it makes no sense. "I can tell what people want in general," she finally says, and her voice is serious. "But it's pretty creepy to find out what people want on a much deeper level than beverages. And that's the one I practice most, so I'm best at it. Also comes in handy when none of your friends can decide where they want to go to eat. I can always figure it out."

Bellamy has known Clarke for a month now. She likes to tease him, but she generally keeps it, well, realistic. And it's not like she's lying; she has, on multiple occasions, told him she is actually magic. He can't say she hasn't been laying the groundwork for this one.

"So, the witch costume, was that going to be your ice breaker? Were you planning to tell me? Is Halloween a big holiday for you?"

"Basically," she says, still looking nervous. "Also, I do look really cute."

"So, if you can really tell what people want, tell me what I want."

"That's a shitty test. Your hot-beverage preference is the most complicated thing you want. Everything else is obvious."

"Yeah?"

She counts off on her fingers. "You want your sister to be happy and successful. You want to finish this job and stop feeling dirty and exhausted all the time, and possibly use your knowledge to bring him down, if that's possible." She falters, and her cheeks go pink. "You want to see me more. You like me."

"Yeah, those are all pretty obvious. Got anything more impressive?"

"I can heat your drink up again," she offers.

"You are the least impressive witch I have ever met."

There's a pause while she worries her lip, like she's trying to make her mind up about him too. "You know," she finally says. "Now you really, really want to see me do a cool witch thing."

"That one's obvious too," he says, and he can see her relaxing by degrees, settling back in to work. And it bugs Bellamy a little, this nagging sensation that she must have been fucking with him, because how could she not be fucking with him? But it would kind of explain things, honestly. Bellamy thought he'd mostly come across as a total mess when they first met, but if Clarke could just look at him and see what kind of person he was, it makes him feel a lot better about her liking him. He thinks he is definitely the kind of guy who'd appeal to someone like Clarke, but it would have been hard to figure that out, without some kind of magical abilities.

Plus, it would explain why she never lets him order coffee and always knows exactly what he needs. Even when he needs tea. That's _got_ to be a superpower.

"So, wait, can you just, like, reach out to me?" he asks, while she's wiping down the counter after close.

"Hm?"

"You brought me tea at Wallace's thing. How'd you know what I needed then?"

She turns pinker than Bellamy has ever seen her, which is oddly mesmerizing. "Um, the more I like someone the easier it is to just--figure out what would make them happy. And I like you a lot, so--"

"So you're using your witch skills to seduce me?" he teases.

"Free hot drinks and coming to terrible charity events to hang out with you, yeah," she says, with a shy smile. "Is it working, or should I have waited until you liked me more for the actual witch thing?"

Bellamy laughs and leans across the counter to kiss her. "You have a very weird idea of what will make me not like you. Oh no, you're rich and magical and know exactly what I want most all the time. I don't see how that's bad." Then he pales. "Uh, you can turn off knowing exactly what I want, right? Because I've been thinking about you naked a lot recently." She breaks out giggling, and he glares at her. "I don't want to be creepy!"

"I'm the one who can kind of read your mind, I think I'm the creepy one. But, yeah, I can control it. I just mostly, um. The coffee seemed pretty harmless. And I thought you'd come back if you liked it." She grins. "So, no objections? Haven't scared you off yet?"

He ducks behind the counter to crowd her up against the register for another, much longer kiss. "Not yet," he says. "I'll keep you posted."

*

He still doesn't really, _truly_ believe it until the first night he sleeps over, when a call from Wallace wakes them up at 6:45 and Clarke waves her hand and his phone flies off her bedside table to shatter against the wall.

"You know you need to replace that like immediately, right?" he asks, only mildly freaked out that his girlfriend's witch powers include telekinesis. "He will murder me if I don't call him back."

"Oh," she says, and makes a face. The phone lifts up and reassembles itself, and Clarke burrows against his chest. "Five more minutes."

"Are you ever going to tell me the full extent of your magical powers?"

"Cosmo says guys like mystery in a relationship," she says, and floats the phone back to him. "Tell Cage my mom will give him a million dollars if you don't have to work today."

He presses a kiss against her shoulder. "Tempting. Maybe next time."

"Your loss," says Clarke, curling back against his side. "I'm going to turn him into a frog after you quit."

"Deal," Bellamy says, rolling out of bed to find his boxers.

It's cold and dark and fucking horrible outside, but there's coffee waiting for him on the counter, perfect as always, and Octavia will be home for Thanksgiving in a weeks. And in just four short months, he won't be working for Cage Wallace anymore, and his amazing, beautiful girlfriend may or may not be able to actually turn the guy into a frog.

He really has no idea why Clarke was worried; witchcraft is definitely the exact opposite of a deal breaker.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a Halloween AU with witch!Clarke, which only sort of happened. I mean, obviously it happened, but, you know. It did not turn out as Halloween-y as planned.


End file.
